


in secret places

by darkangel0410



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDSM, Light BDSM, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 15:59:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16558790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkangel0410/pseuds/darkangel0410
Summary: They room together at World Cup and there’s once or twice, after bad games, that he kneels for Connor; only for a little bit, and he only goes all the way down once, but. It feels good, knowing that he was doing something right, that he could be what someone wants. And Connor is -nice, he runs his fingers through Jack's hair, tells him what he’s doing right that game, how well he was playing.





	in secret places

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you just need to write the McEichel fic you want to see in the world. Enjoy! 
> 
> This is pretty tame, imo, especially for a BDSM AU. But ymmv so proceed with caution if the tags sound iffy to you.

They announce the preliminary rosters for the World Cup, spacing it out over the day.

Both Jack and McDavid are on the North American team, which isn’t a surprise.

They put McDavid’s name first and then his; the rest of the team are listed after their names, first doms and then the subs like every other list Jack’s ever seen. Jack’s not sure why they even bothered putting his name after Connor’s instead of with the other subs, unless it was to point out (again) that he’s not as good as McDavid is.

It’s also not a surprise that everyone’s already started calling it Team McDavid, like no one else has a chance of being named captain or that anyone else is going to do anything during the tournament -like Connor fucking McDavid is going to have to carry them on his back through this whole thing.

It’s infuriating that he’s always bumping up against McDavid and being found wanting. 

Jack wonders sometimes if he was a dom, would that have changed their narrative in the media; wonders if maybe being a sub hurt his chances at going first overall.

It doesn’t bother him, usually: what happened happened and all Jack can do is play his best hockey and prove that he’s no one’s consolation prize.

But every once in a while, stuff pops up that vividly reminds him that to a lot of people, he’s not as talented as his hype said he was or, worse, that he’s good at hockey _for a sub_.

Jack knows it isn’t McDavid’s fault, knows him well enough after hanging out a few times and through group chats and mutual friends, that the guy just wants to play hockey, and tolerates everything else that came along with it.

But he still resents him, a little bit; resents how easy it was for everyone to assume that McDavid was better, that there was no question about who was going to go first. 

Mostly he just resents that no one ever told McDavid that he was a good hockey player, for a dom.

*

They room together at World Cup and there’s once or twice, after bad games, that he kneels for Connor; only for a little bit, and he only goes all the way down once, but. It feels good, knowing that he was doing something right, that he could be what someone wants. And Connor is -nice, he runs his fingers through Jack's hair, tells him what he’s doing right that game, how well he was playing.

That was almost two months ago and Jack doesn't need to kneel to know how good he is on the ice.

But he feels hollow, sometimes, his chest empty and there are times when someone asks him about Connor and his heart thumps painfully.

He has Connor's number, he could call or text, but he doesn't. He doesn't want Connor to think he's clingy, needing something that wasn't ever his anyway.

*

The Oilers have a blind auction in November, selling game worn jerseys online for charity.

Jack toys with the idea of buying Connor's jersey; it’s pathetic, but there are times when he thinks maybe it would help him stop feeling like he lost something after the tournament.

He doesn't do it, though; Connor wasn’t ever _his_ , they weren’t together. Weren’t even friends, really.

So he just keeps playing: plays hockey the only way he knows how and hopes it’s enough to get rid of the empty feeling in his chest.

*

The Sabres go on a good run, and Jack goes out with the team and gets drunk after his third overtime goal in a week. They don’t stay out long, but it’s fun dancing and not having to buy his own drinks.

After he gets home, he's laying on his bed, not drunk enough to be throwing up but definitely drunk enough that his caution has gone out the window, and it seems a great idea to call Connor finally.

Connor answers, his voice warm and he sounds happy to hear from Jack, and Jack doesn't know what to do with that, so he blurts out the first thing on his mind.

"I miss you."

There's silence for a second before Connor talks again. "I miss you, too, Jack."

It's sounds guarded but sincere and that's all it takes for Jack to close his eyes and relax back onto the mattress.

"Wanted to call before," Jack admits, since that seems to have worked out well for him so far.

"You should have then," Connor tells him, amused. "You didn't have to wait and drunk dial me to talk."

"I'm not drunk," Jack protests and then starts giggling because yeah he kind of is.

"Right," Connor agrees and Jack knows he's probably rolling his eyes.

"I saw your goal," Connor tells him then, and his voice is still warm and happy but there's an undertone to it now, almost Connor's dom voice that Jack still remembers so well.

"You -you did?" Jack asks breathlessly, suddenly focused completely on Connor's voice in his ear.

"Hmmmm, I always check your games," Connor admits and Jack almost whimpers, and he does inhale sharply, unable to stop the way his pulse starts pounding. "Third OT goal of the year, and it was a beauty, too -snuck it past Price's glove, just as pretty as you please."

"Did -did you like it?" and Jack knows he sounds vulnerable but he can't help it; he wants Connor's approval and he can let himself have it right now when he's a little drunk and comfortable and happy.

"Like it? I loved it, baby," Connor tells him, and the endearment slips out naturally, as if he always thinks of Jack that way. "You've been playing great this season." 

Connor hesitates before he adds softly, "I'm really proud of you, no sophomore slump for my Jack, eh?"

And Jack does whimper then, squeezes his eyes shut as the sheer force of what he wants presses down on him: he wants this, wants Connor to praise him and take care of him, wants Connor to be his. "I -please, Connor."

Connor takes a deep breath and when he speaks, his voice is steady and strong, still warm, and it's exactly the same as Jack remembers from months ago. "Alright, baby, I need you take off your clothes, put on whatever you would for bed."

"Just my boxers," Jack mumbles, already yanking his shirt off; he jostles the phone a little bit and puts it back on the pillow next to his head before he kicks off his pants onto the floor.

"Now I want you to get comfortable -you're probably going to want to go to sleep soon and this way you won't have to get up in the middle of the night."

"I'm already tired," Jack admits on a yawn, feeling like he could sleep all night for once.

Connor laughs, "I'm not surprised. Go to sleep and call me when you wake up, ok? I want to talk about this when you're not drunk."

"I will," Jack promises; he bites his lip for a second before he blurts out, "can you stay on the phone with me until I fall asleep? Please?"

"Of course," Connor soothes and Jack lets himself curl up under his blanket, his phone pressed tightly to his ear. "Want to hear about how we pranked the rookies today?"

Connor starts telling the story without waiting for a reply and Jack feels himself getting sleepier.

The last thing he remembers hearing is " -and then Hallsy takes his shoes, and -" before he drops off.

Jack wakes up the next morning, feeling strangely rested for having drank so much. He’s curled up under his blankets, his phone next to his head and it takes him a minute before he remembers everything that happened the night before.

“Shit,” Jack mutters, closing his eyes again. He doesn’t want to deal with this right now or ever, if he’s being honest with himself.

His phone vibrates once, letting him know he’s got a text message.

_hey. call me please? we need to talk about last night._

It’s from Connor and Jack’s stomach drops; last night settled him more than he thought it would have, but he doesn’t know what Connor thinks and that’s what worries him.

His phone vibrates again, it’s another text from Connor and this one makes him smile in relief.

_i missed talking to you the last couple months. call me back so we can figure this out._

It’s immediately followed by one that says _i mean, obviously only if you want to, you don’t have to listen to me if you don’t want to_ and suddenly Jack’s pretty sure that they can do this.

He goes and brushes his teeth first, washes up; there’s no practice today and they’re not traveling to Carolina until tonight, so Jack has no where to be for the next few hours and no excuse not to call Connor, if he wants to. 

And he does want to call him. Jack called him before, after all, how hard could it be to reach out to Connor again? And he knows Connor wants to talk to him this time.

It takes him another ten minutes before he dials Connor’s number; Connor answers immediately, his soft “hey” dissolving the tension in Jack’s shoulders that he wasn’t even aware of at first.

"Hey, Connor, I, um, I've missed you."


End file.
